


Neymar Visits

by sydneyparri



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys Kissing, FC Barcelona, Football, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Messi is hurting but telling no one about it, Neymar isn’t happy either, Neymessi, Some angst, so many confessions!, sometime between spanish and uefa super cups and the ucl preps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydneyparri/pseuds/sydneyparri
Summary: Neymar visits his old club and Leo tries to make it through that special day.
Relationships: Lionel Messi & Neymar, Lionel Messi/Neymar
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	Neymar Visits

**Author's Note:**

> hello, there! i wrote this in 2018, but since i deleted my previous ao3 account (along with other ones in a few plataforms), i’ve decided to post this again under my new pseudonym. as i said it two years ago, i got the idea for this from a dream i had at the time, and the rest flowed out of my mind as i kept listening to don’t watch me cry by jorja smith (which i still think should be the anthem of neymessi storyline, btw). although it’s all in leo’s point of view, i was kind of letting it out of my chest, how i felt about the whole ney and barça situation.
> 
> it’s my very first fanfic (and still the only one) written in english (not my mother language), so i really hope you guys like it. and may i warn you about a huge lord of war spoiler (???) it’s only because of a line throughout the story, but i find it better saying now just to make sure i won’t get anyone who didn’t watch by surprise.
> 
> ▶ **songs to listen to while reading the chapter:**
> 
> 1\. don’t watch me cry - jorja smith  
> 2\. things could be better - steven bamidele  
> 3\. entrelaços - scalene  
> 4\. hace una hora - juan pablo vega
> 
> ▶ **playlist available[here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NXzswVYZaglgKoiF1zufQ?si=gy7GBH_jQ7KV3GpaoGbYhA).**
> 
> enjoy ♡

Leo feels utterly weird.

But Geri still manages to lead him to the midfield, where both settle comfortably under the soft morning sun. Geri also says that that would definitely do him some good. “You look quite pale, Leo.” He notices with a smirk on his face, to which Leo just nods. He feels weird only because that day would be something. He’d absentmindedly heard as Geri told in an overly excited voice Neymar was coming later to visit.

_Later is almost now._

His fingers grab the grass unconsciously, and Leo has a hard time covering his bitterness. The conversation between Geri and Rakitić — who had showed up at some point — starts to grow. They laugh and tease each other childishly and when they glance at Leo expecting a word, he turns his gaze, throwing his attention elsewhere, since that way is easier.

From afar, he watches as Arthur prepares to kick the ball while Marc stretches like a huge predator, waiting for it. But Arthur doesn’t flinch, he runs a hand through his hair before shooting the ball right into the top left corner of the net. Coutinho, who is standing near him, claps his shoulder gently and takes over his position to do the same.

Leo takes a deep sip of water, cursing his own brain, which works fast, _really fast,_ sending him all those imagens featuring a young version of Neymar and another one of himself, supporting the youngest, greeting him after a score. And then there’s that specific day where Neymar had held his face during a match, and Leo had thought for a short second about how close his lips were and how good his touch felt on his burning skin.

Leo doesn’t want to think due to the pain it causes him.

He looks at the mob of journalists instead, wondering how stressful their job must be, and he blinks at the occasional camera flashes from a safe distance as they try to gather as much of the training session info as it can be gathered. Leo wonders if his inner conflicts can be captured through the cameras and then considers putting a tiny smile on.

It’s Rakitić who snaps him out of his reverie, and Leo is still blinking when his friends begin to discuss their chances at the UCL.

As soon as noon comes, Leo heads to an already empty locker room and realizes he’s trapped inside the training ground — since they’d have a match in the following day. He’s running out of excuses to avoid seeing his former teammate, like he’d successfully done in the previous time Neymar turned up at Barcelona “just to say hi”.

It was never _just hi,_ it was always whole afternoons filled with conversations and sharing memories about the moments they all spent together.

Leo doesn’t want to remember. However, he still does, in the shower he takes before lunch. He lets the cold water runs freely from the top of his head to his bare feet in hopes it’d wash his thoughts away, but his brain rather wants him to suffer.

So, he lets it happen. Leo embraces the nostalgic feeling and accepts the harsh truth, which is: he and Neymar are no longer together, _playing,_ his mind adds. It isn’t the first time he does that within a year and he must do it often — remember himself things are just the way they are and they’re not going to change.

He’d tried to force himself into hating Neymar for leaving, of course he had. God knows he’d tried. But after a while it just seemed pointless. The anger started being replaced by sadness and Neymar had started growing on him again. And before he had the time to come to his senses, he was hugging his teammates during matches, eyes shut, imagining Neymar’s arms around him, squeezing him tight, mumbling “you’re the best” over and over.

Leo snorts, getting breathless under the cold water, so he grabs a tower to cover his own body and keep it from shivering. He also takes the opportunity to cry a little bit since no one is there to see and he thinks _this is gonna be one hell of an afternoon._

Few minutes later, Leo is sitting alongside Luis and Sergi at lunch. He eats silently, glancing at Geri every time he makes an awful joke — and there’s a lot of times. Leo doesn’t talk much, and he strongly believes that the reason is because Neymar can be there at any second, and the simple thought is enough to make him eager.

So, he’s listening to Arthur’s monologue of how he ended up meeting this Brazilian girl — he’s ensuring she’s a keeper — when Neymar chooses to appear. Leo bats an eye at his presence to see he’s wearing a black snapback screwed backwards on his head and shiny blue glasses, and he looks happy and excited to see them all. The first one he hugs is Rafinha, of course it is, then Geri, Marc and Umtiti. Neymar just hugs everyone, basically, and Leo remembers how much of a hugger he is.

But when his former teammate starts to approach, Leo’s hand freezes mid-air wrapping a fork full of hot spaghetti. _This shouldn’t be happening,_ he thinks, _I shouldn’t be so tense._ Neymar hugs Luis from behind and jokes about his weight, and when Leo’s turn comes, he stands up quickly and hugs him back.

“I missed you, Leo.” Neymar says, a mere whisper against his neck.

It feels like the old days.

Without thinking it through, Leo digs his fingernails into Neymar’s hoodie, presses him tight and huffs out a sigh. It only lasts five seconds and it isn’t enough time for Leo to say he’s been missing him too.

Leo lets go of Neymar and watches in awe as he moves to sit on an available spot between Geri and Rafinha on the other side of the table. He’s in front of Leo now, and it seems too good to be true. Neymar can’t barely keep his mouth shut and he blabs about David Lucca beginning to show his skills and how thrilled he is that his son is following in his steps. Leo hadn’t realized he’d missed those moments that much.

Occasionally, Neymar beams at him, playing with their feet under the table. Leo rolls his eyes each and every time before teasing him in return. He feels so pleased and relaxed in Neymar’s presence he can’t quite remember why he’d felt so distressed before.

They spend the rest of the afternoon sharing memories as he’d thought. Soon the sun would disappear, and Leo sure knows it’s time for him to go back to the hotel, but he and Neymar have been playing ping-pong for the past half an hour — they’re so, _so_ involved in it — and Leo isn’t emotionally or physically capable to stop their interaction.

“Have you been practicing?” He asks Neymar instead, in a lack of air. _How could he have become so good at this?_

Neymar shows a rather mischievous smile. “Not much,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. “But you haven’t, as I can see.”

“Idiot.” Leo mutters.

“No, seriously,” Neymar continues, playful, eyes lighting up. “I personally think that, when God created you, he might have thought, ‘I’ll give him amazing football skills, great temper, videogame skills as well, handsomeness, cleverness, but-” he pauses after almost losing a throw. “ _But,_ I’ll make him suck at ping-pong’.”

Leo is discredited, and he tries not to overthink about the handsomeness part.

“You’re lucky, though,” Neymar says. “God made me bad at singing.”

“Yeah, that he sure did.”

Neymar’s mouth drops open with feigned shock, his next moves quickly beating Leo down. “Sorry if I’m bothering you with my amazingness.” He can’t help but tease. And losing another match leaves a fresh wave of annoyance drawn tight Leo’s expression. “Oh, Leo, c’mon! Don’t be such a sore loser.”

Leo casts his brown eyes towards him. “Easy for you to say…” He mumbles; however, a tiny hint of a grin suddenly starts to grow on his lips. “Best of 10?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Eventually, the nightfall comes, and, of all the team, Luis is the last one to leave. He pulls Neymar into a tight hug and tells him they were never the same since he’d left — he’d always said that, and it was never less true. Luis also offers Leo a ride, since they’d gotten there together, to which Leo politely refuses, explaining he’d already arranged someone to pick him up. So, Luis goes and Neymar stays, and Leo thinks Neymar doesn’t want to go as much as he doesn’t want him to go too.

“So, Ney,” The hall is empty and there’s only the two of them left playing. In fact, they’re mostly chatting at this point, so much they end up forgetting the score — well, Neymar might have forgotten, but Leo himself is too competitive to stop mental noting the points. “How’s life in Paris?”

“Good, good. _Great._ ”

“You think you guys have a chance this season?”

“Hard to say, you know?” Neymar’s lips purses into a pout. “Training only begins next week.”

Leo murmurs in agreement, feeling the sudden need to change the subject he’d brought up. Except he’s genuinely curious, considering it’s been a while since they had the opportunity to talk about that kind of stuff. He wants to be assured that Neymar is happy, truly happy.

“I’ve always wanted to spend some time in Paris, to be honest. It’s such an… interesting place,” This sounds weird even to his own ears, but Neymar grins at the sentence either way. “Don’t you think?”

Neymar nods. It’s a bit strange for Leo being talkative while Neymar is the one doing the nods. They’re still playing nonetheless, and Leo senses that at any time Neymar might put the racket on the table and leave; and Leo is almost desperate to make him stay, so he keeps forcing the words out.

“It’s such a romantic city too,” _Terrible, Leo,_ his mind adds right after. _Such a bad choice of words._ “And I’m guessing the weather isn’t that bad either...” _Just shut your mouth already._

Neymar is biting his bottom lip and Leo assumes he’s doing that to keep himself from burst in laughs. The hall is silent, and Leo finds he doesn’t like it in the slightest. He’s sure that’s the time Neymar will drop the racket, he’s feeling it. His former teammate leans on the table and for a brief moment he thinks that’s how it’s going to be. But then Leo hears a gasp, and the next thing he knows, Neymar is lowering his head, hands stretched on the table as he fails to keep it together. The ball slides and falls onto the floor.

“I hate it there.” His voice is barely a whisper, and Leo has a hard time assimilating.

“What?”

“I hate it there, Leo.”

Neymar bits his bottom lip again, taken by an awful sense of embarrassment and frightening, until realization slips in, leaving his gaze to focus on Leo’s, in a deep and meaningful exchange. It doesn’t take long, but Leo finally understands, and his eyes widen in disbelief. “Jesus, Ney, I thought you were-”

“What? Happy?” Neymar cuts him. “See, I’m not, really…” It seems he’s going to say something more, but Neymar just blinks fast and swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

Leo approaches him and touches his forearm, caressing it a bit. “Come here. Sit.” He drags Neymar to a couch nearby. Most likely, they’re the only ones left in the building. Neymar sits heavily, one hand behind his nape and eyes on the white ceiling. Leo sits beside him, gaze hovering over his skinny form; he reaches for his forearm again, and regardless the characteristic cold air that enters with the night lights, Neymar is hot.

And he appears to be struggling against the tears. Leo finds it so unexpected coming from someone who weep his eyes out watching Vitaly’s death in Lord of War. The tense silence is back on, but Leo waits this time — respectfully and because he’s puzzled. He thought things were fine since a year had already passed. How could he have been so blind?

“Sorry,” Neymar mumbles after a whole minute being quiet. “I shouldn’t have told you that.” He adds as an afterthought.

“No need to apologize, Ney. And you totally should. We’re friends, remember?”

Neymar looks doubtful as the question sinks in, and Leo finds he can’t argue with that. Despite their past, none of them have been that much of a friend to one another lately; they haven’t been texting or seeing each other in any of their days off. And thinking about it makes Leo ask himself why. _Why haven’t we been friends?_

“That decision is killing me, Leo. I’m angry when I wake, I’m angry when I go to sleep. And seeing you so happy in here-” Neymar rubs a hand over his face, mumbling his next sentence: “I shouldn’t have left.”

Leo tries not to avert his attention from what really matters: Neymar’s troubles — he _really_ tries; however, hearing that doesn’t help. Leo can barely mute a gasp as if he’d just listened to something horrifying, like Real Madrid winning its fourth UCL in a row. Therefore, Leo should definitely have taken some time to ascertain a better answer. “ _Happy?_ ” He knows it isn’t fair, but he does it anyway, throws at Neymar what he thought was locked inside him and wasn’t possible to escape. “Do you think I’m happy?”

“Aren’t you?”

Leo laughs, _hard._ He leans forward, shakes his head and then stands up in a jump, there being nothing alive able to stop him from saying his next words: “You left me! All right?” Leo avoids Neymar’s startled gaze, forcing his face into an angry expression, only because there’re regrets everywhere and they’re almost touchable. “You just packed your stuff and moved to Paris, and that was it.”

“Leo…”

“You didn’t even tell me why.”

“Leo!”

Neymar’s pleads hit Leo harsh in the stomach. Leo is mad. He’s mad because of Neymar’s brief appearance, because he’s been feeling Neymar’s absence, because Neymar clearly still has the power to make him feel incredible happy and sad and frustrated, and because Neymar sure makes him feel too much.

“Why, Neymar? Why did you leave?” He mumbles the same question he intended to do to Neymar since the day he signed for the French club, since he himself had told his former teammate that the change would suit him well. He’s been lying to themselves ever since, when the only thing capable to suit well that skinny goofy lovable form of Neymar is Leo’s arms around him after a score or the Blaugrana jerseys, at least.

No answer comes for that matter, so Leo walks towards the door and leaves.

He doesn’t take long outside the hall, though — he goes to a vending machine to snack a candy bar and surrenders to the urge to punch the opposite wall for a couple of times until pain starts to gown over sadness. Leo is feeling pretty much stupid when he returns and watches Neymar in the same position as when he left. Leo sits beside him as nothing had happened.

“I bet you’re regretting that _God gave me great temper_ now.” Leo says.

Neymar lets out an unhappy laugh, upping his feet over the couch and embracing his knees as if that would keep him from falling apart. “I didn’t know back then,” Neymar catches Leo’s attention with the small confession. “The real reason behind my actions.”

“Save it, Neymar.”

“No, I mean it!” Neymar turns to him and his eyes are wet. He’d cried while Leo was gone — the realization hitting Leo harder than he thought it was possible. Occurs to him he’d already been in that place before, crying over Neymar’s sudden actions. Now, Neymar’s mouth is so close he can feel its breath, that damn Brazilian chewing gum he used to carry around with him all the time. Leo remembers hating the taste and smell of cinnamon until his mind had started to wonder _how could he hate something that’s part of Neymar’s scent?_

He just couldn’t.

“You owe me that, you know? The truth.”

“I know,” Neymar replies, freeing his legs onto the floor and taking off his snapback to thread his fingers through his hair. “I remember standing on the middle of Camp Nou when I first signed for Barça. It was awesome. Rewarding. I remember loving every minute of it, but mostly, the thought that I’d play alongside the best player in the world.”

Neymar lays his head in the couch, straightening his body and crossing his fingers over his belly, so Leo feels free to look up. A tiny part of his brain fights to send him signals, and they’re ordering him to leave, to forget about Neymar’s excuses, to focus on the upcoming match. Leo tries to be reasonable, thinking that perhaps Neymar had had a major reason to leave and Leo had failed to notice.

“Leo,” Neymar says, a cold but unmistakably trembling voice. “What I’m about to tell you may be too much.”

Leo wonders if he’ll ever be reasonable when it comes to Neymar.

His silence must be as clear as any verbal response, though, because Neymar nods in agreement. “You made it so easy for me,” he says. “You helped me adjusting, you helped me with my lame Spanish,” Neymar lets out a rather sheepish laugh. “You went out with me, you invited David Lucca to your kids’ birthdays, for God’s sake-”

“Neymar…”

“But that wasn’t enough for me, was it?” His hands scratch nervously at the fabric of his jeans. “I wanted more. Much more... I wanted the spotlights, Leo, I wanted to be the main star. It wasn’t enough being part of an amazing trio or having the best crowd there is. I kept listening when people came to me saying I’d never step out of your shadow as long as I stayed here. And there was my father calling up to Paris’ bosses, there was Dani and Thiago, and there was all the money… Damn it, I didn’t even care about the money!”

Leo can tell Neymar is beyond embarrassed by the way his eyes drop to the floor, focusing solely on his shoes.

“I was so fucking selfish,” he admits. “And I guess I’d never thanked you properly for everything. I mean, I did, but now… now I’m saying this face to face.” Neymar turns to Leo again, gaze roaming over his. “Thank you, Leo. Thank you so much. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- I- you- you made Barça my home.”

“Barça _is_ your home.”

“Not anymore, Leo,” Neymar blows out a heavy sigh. “Not anymore.”

How could there be so many things they had never really told each other is what Leo thinks. And if Neymar can be honest enough to tell him everything, he might as well start talking. His mind, in a matter of seconds, fill its blank with unsaid words, and Leo decides to use them, in order to make Neymar feel better, because he wants to make him feel better, more than ever.

Leo could start by saying how much he’d missed Neymar’s company in the first months past his transfer; how hurt he’d been- _No, definitely no,_ he considers, _That would only gonna make him suffer._ Leo digs a little deeper and begins to form some small sentences. He’s about to open his mouth, when a shaky murmur makes its way to his ears. “I- huh- I love you, Leo.”

An overwhelming sensation takes over Leo’s body due such an honest confession. He tries desperately to contain the shiver that runs down his spine after Neymar’s words, deciding he can, indeed, start his monologue with that. Leo squeezes his shoulder gently. “I love you too, Ney.”

“No, no,” Neymar corrects quickly. Leo can sense the tension around them, somehow, an unmistakable tension that makes the air even thicker. Neymar must be conflicted, that’s for sure, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and that worries Leo a lot. “I said _I love you._ ” Neymar pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes just a little, as if waiting for a punch.

 _And I said I love you too,_ Leo wants to rush the words out, but it’s already too late. Understanding settles on his face as Neymar puts his own hand above Leo’s, thumb moving soothingly across Leo’s skin, and he pierces through the tension by completing: “And I couldn’t be here if I couldn’t be with you.” Now, Leo is the one closing his eyes, composing himself. Neymar had clouded his senses completely.

Leo has to muster the energy to respond.

He does, eventually, and it takes all his self-discipline for Leo not to falter. “Are you saying… what you’re saying?” He mutters, pulse racing and wary eyes, almost afraid of the answer.

“I guess so.” Neymar’s gaze dances from Leo’s eyes to his lips, far too close. He offers him a weak smile, and his embarrassment resurfaces.

_And I couldn’t be here if I couldn’t be with you._

Neymar’s confession starts ringing in his head, so Leo fights the urge to drink himself into oblivion. Still taken aback, Leo feels a metaphorical lamp lighting somewhere close, and beneath it, images of himself and Neymar, passing by like those ones he imagined just a few hours ago — they’re younger and they’re hugging, they’re kissing, they’re talking, they’re laughing. Leo had never stopped to think about what those images cause in him besides the same old pain. They’re bringing something new this time, a strange warm Leo finds he can’t unlike.

Neymar had said he loves Leo, loves with a capital “L”. Leo, however, doesn’t know what to do with that. He knows he feels things, otherwise he’d have pushed Neymar away, but he doesn’t know their meaning, and that’s utterly frustrating.

So, Leo is standing there, they’re sitting inches apart, and he wishes to be living those images all over again, just to be sure; especially the one with Neymar’s lips being close and his touch giving him chills. Neymar is doing that right now, thumb still moving across Leo’s hand. His eyes are definitely waiting for an answer. And his lips… They might be waiting for something as well. Something Leo can give. Something Leo finds he wants to.

Leo takes a deep breath, mesmerized by the feeling inside his chest. _I just want to be sure..._ And since he can’t relive those images, he decides to create new ones.

Leo kisses Neymar, a gentle pressure of his lips against his mouth, but the second he does that, it means everything. When Leo moves back, a soft hue is painting Neymar’s cheeks. He ends up thinking of Neymar’s sliver of a smile and his own thumping heart back on the field. A brief kiss, just a brush of the lips, really, followed by the fluttering of eyelashes that parted to stare. Thus, Leo can only hope he hadn’t made a mess, yet as soon as he draws back, Neymar is hunching over to kiss him again.

They dive back in, tongues meeting for the first time, engaging themselves in a hot wet kiss. Neymar, who’s arm is wrapped around Leo’s waist, slowly traces a whorl around his tongue. Leo lets out a breathy noise at the contact, then darts along to the dip between his ear and his neck skin, realizing Neymar tastes so good it gets him wordless. And Leo is sure that he’d never been kissed properly until that very moment.

When they separate, Neymar is staring at him with such blatant molten desire. “Mm, I’m so happy.” he says softly, voice curling around Leo’s heart like a tender caress. They hold each other’s gazes for a few seconds, so many thoughts and no time to organize them all. Leo wonders how much things could have been different if they’d just talked before.

“Don’t say anything,” Neymar’s voice sounds almost pleading. “Not yet.”

Leo can feel Neymar is afraid of whichever answer he might give, even though they’d just kissed. “I won’t.”

So, both stay silent, eyes focusing mainly on staying out of the other’s sight. The whole situation starts getting embarrassing at some point, and after a long quiet moment, Leo clears his throat. “So, presumably, you’re transferred to Real Madrid…”

“What?!” Neymar turns to him immediately, sending him a wild gaze in the dim light of the hall. Suddenly, he begins to regret the silence they built up. _Why couldn’t we just get over with it?_ “No, no, Leo. What the hell?! I’m not wearing the white.”

“I said _presumably._ ” Leo goes on on anything he thinks can avert their attention from the kiss matter. “You have friends there, haven’t you?”

“Leo, you must understand that no club could ever be for me what Barça once was.” Neymar’s eyes snap open. “I made such a terrible mistake.”

“Shush, shush,” Leo wants to punch himself real bad for bringing that subject again. In a lack of fear, he reaches up to cup Neymar’s cheeks. The touch feels so right it’s kind of scary — a good scary, though. “Let’s not go back to this, all right?”

Neymar hums in agreement and leans his face into the palm of Leo’s hand, holding onto Leo like he was drowning. Minutes passes by, and they’re almost lying down on the couch when Neymar’s voice resurfaces: “I gotta go,” he says, standing up quickly to Leo’s surprise. “The press… I don’t want people talking, you know? I made a promise to myself I’d stop living my life out loud.”

He puts back his snapback, but leaves the glasses on his hoodie pocket. Leo just watches at the scene, face numb.

“This… Whatever this is, I don’t wanna lose it, Leo. I can’t lose you again.” Neymar’s honesty hits him. “Please, tell me you feel the same way, ‘cause otherwise I will just- You know what? Nevermind. I can’t force you into it, can I?” Neymar brings out a smile that he hopes looks amusing and not like he’s dying to know what’s going on in Leo’s mind. “But, please, I mean it now, think about it, Leo. Think about us, and if you don’t want me- huh- that’s fine-”

Leo barely takes time to verify his thoughts before spilling the words out, as fast as any word can be said: “I want you.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Leo catches his gaze, and Neymar has such a beautiful pair of wondering eyes that perhaps he’s the one who should be thanking God. Leo shifts forward to kiss him hard, and they kiss another time, and another, and another — Leo had never thought about kissing his former teammate before, but he sure had memorized the shape of his mouth; even if that couldn’t _in a million years_ have prepared him for the actual kissing action. They kiss lazily until Neymar can muster the strength to pull his own face away. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You could never, Ney.” Leo assures him. He still has a lot to take in and assimilate about their relationship carefully, yet somewhere in his subconscious, he knows he’s heading to the right path. Neymar nods, truly believing.

“I like how optimistic you’ve become.” Neymar says with a grin, pressing their foreheads together, eyes closed; making Leo realize his optimistic side exists only because of Neymar existence itself. He bends down to kiss Leo deeply goodbye, and they linger there. It’s beautiful and sweet; a farewell, but Leo is certain:

That kiss wouldn’t be the last one.

**Author's Note:**

> oh, well… they’re my everything.
> 
> [1] for who’s wondering, the game leo mentioned at the beginning, with neymar holding his face, was a copa del rey match between barça and espanyol. click [here](https://data.whicdn.com/images/218102893/original.gif) to check the *cute* gif.
> 
> see ya ♡


End file.
